<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>But I’m a human, I come with knives by borlaaq</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169889">But I’m a human, I come with knives</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/borlaaq/pseuds/borlaaq'>borlaaq</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>This Slow Devour [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallen London | Echo Bazaar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Duelling, Gen, Sparring, local human bullies alien bat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:27:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/borlaaq/pseuds/borlaaq</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Look, when you can’t read, you can’t be told ‘get the fuck away I am So Sick of your dumbass’’ by a Mute Alien.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>This Slow Devour [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>But I’m a human, I come with knives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It's not that Emil can't read the room — he knows Iron doesn't want him around. But that's only encouragement to the Fist of the Bazaar. He enjoys the thrill of dodging daggers and swords. And on rare occasions Iron just lets Emil settle in, the two polish steel together. Emil talks nonstop but sometimes Iron doesn't mind. Emil, if anything, knows his way around blades. He's one of the few it can trust with the more delicate nature of its work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron has slipped him an invitation to Knife and Candle on more than one occasion. Emil knows what it means, but the next time he shows up, he always hands the invitation back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, confused by the action, Iron holds up a card with a question mark. Hopefully that gets through to the illiterate Fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't wanna fight in big groups." He shrugs, folding the card in half and flicking it across the warehouse. Iron watches it fly with a glare. "Why don't you fight me instead? You're probably all moldy." — Iron starts to scribble a correction to the wording before it remembers it won't help — "Veils at least gets out. But I've never seen you sparring. You need practice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron wants to bare its fangs, but that is something Veils would do. Instead it crosses its arms, eyes narrowed. Emil is scouting out a wall of old swords, and picks one up. He looks over and Iron knows there is no way he can understand what he holds. An ancient sabre from the Fourth City. He tests the weight and when pleased, tosses it towards Iron. The Master catches it by the hilt easily, despite its robes fluttering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emil steps further back into the weapon wracks and Iron feels a sense of unease. The ones near the back are not its most precious, but they are rarer, older. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if it's a fight Emil wants, Iron supposes talking with blood is something they both are used to. He is called the Fist after are. (And Iron recalls that once it was called the Sword. Seeing Emil now, haloed by light, makes it think the tables have turned. Maybe Iron isn't needed to protect anymore.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shifts off its outer robes, leaving just the chainmail and under robes, which have been secured close to its body just for these situations. Its form is still erased by layers, and the coif covers its ears. Its wings are free should it need the extra limbs, and its horns and muzzle are on display.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one human had survived seeing it like this. When it takes off its robes, it's for a reason.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emil returns with a macuahuitl and Iron is both uncomfortable and yet not surprised. The black glass blades, the flat-wood. Iron knows of Emil's tendency but still it cocks its head, motions with a claw to the weapon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emil runs a finger over the obsidian, blinking at the blood it draws. "This is from the Third City, yeah? The knives had the same blades."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his eyes catch the light of the room, they are more gold than Peligin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He couldn't fight. He didn't fight. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>negotiator</span>
  </em>
  <span>." Emil continues. "But this is just one more place where I am not him. Where I keep myself." And Emil smirks, raising the weapon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron is faster, something primal in it taking hold. It doesn't know if Emil is threatening it or having fun, but Iron will put him in his place. It meets Emil's club with its own sword. The weight of its sabre is comfortable and even more so when it clashes directly in-between the line of blades on Emil's weapon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emil laughs. "There you go! That's the Iron I remember!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what does he remember? It's slipping away already. But the exclamation makes Iron hesitate enough for Emil to raise his leg. He slams his knee up into Iron's hand, crushing it against its own grip on the sword. Iron had not expected that. Most humans go for the stomach, or the legs, but Emil fights like a Curator, knows where Iron is more bone than muscle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It snarls, a hoarse noise from disuse. Instinct makes it pull its weapon back, claws on its wings lashing out instead. Emil dodges to the side and Iron finds itself surprised at how small he is, how easily he ducks under and circles behind. He's small even for a human, Iron thinks vaguely. It twists around, meeting Emil's blade once again and it can't stop the instinct to flare its wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emil isn't distracted like a human should be. Emil is used to hunting Veils. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron pulls back suddenly, causing Emil to stumble due to the weight he had been putting on where their weapons met. He's not used to fighting with heavy blades, Iron can tell that from his scarred knuckles. He's muscular enough to make up for it, but Iron hasn't lost a duel in centuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The last time it lost was in the Second City and Iron doesn't want to think of what it and Veils were dueling over.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron leaps back and grabs a second sabre, eyes wild, teeth bared. Emil smirks and readjusts his grip. He runs forward at full speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It was Candles. It was always Candles. Iron wanted to take its place.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron raises both its swords, ready to parry— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>— but Emil bends his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Emil fights like Veils, unpredictable and monstrous.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaps, hand suddenly on Iron's back, shoving it low. Iron tries to jerk its wings out to disrupt him but Emil twists his body. He is more agile than Iron had expected for how muscular he is. All at once, he has his legs wrapped around Iron's chest, wings pinned to its back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his macuahuitl to Iron's throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a clatter as it drops both its own weapons and holds its hands up in defeat. Emil laughs and Iron can feel it reverberate through its back. He hops off, landing in front of the Master and looking smug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was fun. We should do it again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron kicks his feet out from under him. He lands hard on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. It grabs his tie with its hand, just enough to keep him from cracking his skull open on the concrete. Iron cocks its head to the side and flashes him a sharp smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let's... call it a draw." Emil huffs. Iron rolls its eyes and let's go of him. He hits his head. Not hard enough to do damage, but his brain does do some rattling. He groans. Iron is already picking up the mess. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>